


The Elements of Being a Person

by Lyzelah



Series: Bucky Barnes and The Winter Soldier [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Domestic Avengers, Identity Issues, Loss of Identity, Not Canon Compliant, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Self-Discovery, Therapy, mention of PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25154185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyzelah/pseuds/Lyzelah
Summary: Under the Thumb of Hydra, The Winter soldier wonders what it would be like to be free, safe, and a Person. When the opportunity arises, He won't miss his chance to vanish off their radar forever. Unfortunately, when You don't have a name and Identity of your own, the whole world seems to be a Little too much.***Takes place after Ideas of being a Person.***
Series: Bucky Barnes and The Winter Soldier [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1820992
Kudos: 12





	1. The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Not Beta-ed (no one really wants to read things before I post them). Let me know what you think.

He never had a Name.

Only occasionally a title, Something that was given to him as a tag others knew him as.

He was a Soldier, Trained to kill, trained not to die.

He was a Soldat, The Winter Soldier, a Fist of Hydra.

He was an Asset, a Tool to be utilized by someone bigger, someone better than him.

He was an assassin, a killer, a man.

Titles like these were said to introduce him to others. Even as Number 32, the 32nd instance of the Winter Soldier, He was one of 32 others, possibly more.

but he didn’t claim those titles in his head. Titles that were used by others to introduce him to others. 

So when he found himself facing down against another enhanced in the middle of the freeway, and that someone gave him a name, it was not expected.

Ice shot through his veins as the thought of his commanding officers getting wind of someone giving him a name. Fear spread through his body, spiking through every inch of his already high functioning body, dumping more adrenaline into his system.

“Who the Hell is Bucky?”

The fear of being caught turned into Anger at being threatened as he moved to shoot the man. Then everything was over. They were gone and he had failed.

His Handler was Angry, to a point. But even so, he wasn’t put under again. He wasn’t put in for maintenance. Instead he was given another chance to prove his loyalty. To prove that he was still useful and valuable to Hydra.

So he did. He went up on the Helicarrier, He went to protect those that created him. He went on their orders, knowing full well that he would die.

And kneeling beside the river with a disoriented Captain America, He found that he finally could.

He could Die.

And He could live as a human.

A person.

More than a tool.

***

He read about Captain America, Read about the Howling Commandos, and looked at the face in the photos of himself, but not him. He doubted this man ever had a serial number on his neck. He doubted very much this man was ever less than Human.

Sergeant James Barnes was someone he wanted to be like.

Looking at that confident face, He felt small. 

He was just… nothing, masquerading as someone.

The Creature came back, Gentle this time, and reminded him that it was okay. He desired to be human, to be a person. Fourteen days had passed since he had fallen from Hydra’s grasp. Slowly, bit by bit, he lit a fire in his chest, A desire to be a human still flickered in his chest, which he cultivated, ever hopeful, ever patient. One day, having a name, a life. Choices.

He pilfered and stole, and sold and bought. He pick-pocketed, and ran. Time and again, he would see a phone and imagine picking it up, calling the man that freed him.

He didn’t have the number.

And when He did have a number, a number to one Tony Stark, he couldn’t bring himself to call and ask for help.

Seven times. Seven times he tried to dial the numbers, not knowing who he was or what he was doing.

The eighth time he was hunched over the phone in the dark of the apartment he was squatting in. the bright glow lit up the room, shadows danced on the wall. It was like person-hood was there, but just out of reach.

The ability to touch something without being hit, of speaking without a shock following.

He didn’t trust his voice 

He barely trusted his breath.

The phone rang in front of his face. He couldn’t help it as a pit of hopeless despair collected in his stomach and his eyes scrunched.

“Hello?”

He let out a shuddering breath at the voice on the other end, a croak echoing through the darkened room.

“Who is this?”

His mouth opened and for a moment, no words came out. Another croak as he sucked air into his oxygen deprived lungs, “I don’t know…”

“Okay, okay!” the voice was instantly soothing, “Easy there. What do you want?”

It seemed to take ages for the words to find a way past the barriers in his mind, past the checkpoints to his tongue, “Help. Please.”

“Okay, I’ll try my best. You want to tell me how you got this number so I can get a handle for who I’m speaking to?”

“I...I…” He shook his head, “I don’t know. Can’t remember.”

“Is there a specific reason you needed me and not someone else more qualified?” there was a rustling, “I’m sure there are hotlines where people who are more equipped to help can talk to you.”

He started to Panic, “N-No. Has to be you.”

There was a pause, “O-kay, any particular reason, sweetheart?”

The nickname made him feel warmer, more human, more… person, “You know the one who saved me. The one who killed me and let me live.”

“The one who killed you.” The voice repeated, “I’m blanking on who you mean. Do you have a name or a description? Sounds bad, but I know a lot of people that could be blamed for death, not including me.”

“The Blonde, with the shield. Captain America. Steve Rogers.” He repeated back what he had written in a small book he’d stolen on his first day of being away from Hydra. He’d written things down, in order, so He could remember in case he ever forgot.

There was a long pause before the man on the other end of the phone spoke again, “Would you like to speak to him again?”

“Yes, No. I don’t know. I… I can’t.” He curled deeper into the fetal position, “He’s a Good person. He saved me, but… I don’t… I’m just...I just need… Help. please.”

“Okay, I can do this. What kind of help do you need? I can keep talking if you need me to, or We can have someone meet you somewhere and get you some help…”

“Yes. please yes.” relief filled his stomach, pooled in his eyes, and chest, and he started to relax. Someone was going to help him.

“...Is this..?” The man on the other end paused, “Bucky?”

He ended the call, threw the phone at the wall, smashed it into a million tiny pieces. Instantly he regretted it, It was going to be hard to get another one. But that settled things.

They didn’t want him. He was broken. He was a tool.

 _Defect_.

They wanted Bucky. The man who’d fought tooth and nail at Steve Roger’s Back. Captain America’s Right hand man, Sergeant Barnes. The Original Soldier, Not some cheap Copy

He crawled over to the wall, curling into a ball in the corner.

Emotions. That was the hardest part of being away from Hydra. He had no one to tell him how to cope with these feelings. They overwhelmed him and made him feel like he was helpless. He had never cried before these last two weeks. He couldn’t decide whether the pain of sobbing uncontrollably was worse than the fact that he seemed to feel lighter, more relaxed, and have more clarity afterwards. 

Fear used to turn to Anger with Hydra, that was how he survived. These days Fear often turned to sadness or paranoia, Anger simmered out to Irritation, and sadness came hand in hand with hopelessness and loneliness.

Fifteen minutes of trying to control shaky breaths in the corner was interrupted with the jarring sound of a knock at the door.

It startled him from his fetal position further into the corner as the door swung open as if it hadn’t been locked.

It had to be locked. He had locked it.

His eyes tracked up from the shoes to the man’s profile before Tony Stark turned and looked at him. He stepped further into the room, closing the door, before turning to face the frightened man, patient smile on his lips, casual posture, not cold or condescending.

“I’m sorry, I think the call dropped,” He strolled into the room like he belonged there, which he obviously didn’t, “nice place, not what I expected, but nice."

His voice was barely a whisper. He didn’t trust himself with volume, barely trusted himself with words, "Please tell me it's just you."

"Just me." Tony approached carefully before crouching beside the other man, "but Steve really wanted to come."

"Glad he didn't." He admitted, "I'm not… I'm not the one he wants, not who he remembers. He wants Bucky, I'm just… I don't even know who I am."

Tony’s face shifted slightly, “I’m sorry. But I think He’s missing out.”

That phrase was enough to make the man feel a little better. Like Tony believed in him. He wanted to make sure Tony knew who he was, "I've killed so many people, I never had a choice. I killed the others. The deviants. Those who tried to make a choice. Like I did. Like I am."

"I want to take you back to the tower. Keep you safe. That okay?"

The man in the corner accessed. Sincerity shown in Stark's eyes. He nodded, "okay… but don't let Steve see me."

"Why not?"

"He wants the original. Wouldn't be fair to show him a copy."

***

There were a lot of Firsts in the Tower.

He slept in a bed, soft and warm compared to the ground and the bed of ice. 

He spoke to a woman in the ceiling, a woman, he'd been told was not human but more than a tool, a person. 

Here was someone like him, in a way. They had obtained person-hood. He envied her, but better, he was delighted it was possible. 

He spoke to a Doctor, the first Doctor who wasn’t here to cut him up or cause him pain. A doctor that healed the mind. He spoke freely with her, hoping she could help.

“And you don’t remember anything before Hydra?” Doctor Milan asked carefully.

“I wasn’t before that. That was someone else, Someone I was made from.” He said and then took a deep breath, “James Barnes, the man who fell from the Train, the Man Hydra found and Modified? Separate person. I was taken, bits of his bone and flesh and maps of his brain, and I was cloned. Without his memories.” He said quietly. It was easier this time, since he’d talked to Tony about what had happened, “He was the original, the rest of us were made to be just like him.”

She nodded, making notes, “So, really You’re Not, James Buchannen Barnes.”

“No.” He felt a little guilty.

“So who are you?”

He didn’t have an answer, and it overwhelmed him. It felt miserable, sitting there without an Answer, “I don’t know.”

“Then let’s figure it out together, okay?”

And that was the first light at the end of the dark tunnel. It was a tunnel he’d been walking down since he’d woke up Ready to Comply in Hydra’s Labs all those years ago.

By the time he realized he was nodding, she’d handed him a tablet. It mirrored what she had on her own. The Electronic device was sensitive, but since his left hand was Metal, he didn’t make much of an impact on it.

“Let’s start with a Name.”

A name, “Isn’t that a big step?”

“I don’t think so, you can always change it later. It’ll give others something to Identify you as and express familiarity.”

The man nodded, “Okay.”

She leaned forward, “ do you want something Common or Unique?”

“Easy to pronounce.” He mumbled.

“Okay, good start.” She said and the list moved from millions of choices down.

She’d ask questions, and the list would narrow, as he answered she’d praise him with, “Good Job,” or “Excellent Choice.” or “Perfect.” And his voice got a little louder, more confident.

“Are there any names you’ve heard that you like?” She asked.

“I like James, but that’s not my name. I’m not him, and I don’t want to be him.” his voice tapered out again.

“What about a Derivative of James?” She asked, waiting until he nodded before bringing up a second list.

**Jacob**

**Jae**

**Jay**

**Jem**

**Jaime**

**Jamey**

**Jamie**

**Jim**

**Jimbo**

**Jimi**

**Jimmie**

**Jimmy**

**Jake**

**Jack**

**Jameson**

He paused and pointed, “Jameson.”

The Doctor Smiled, “Son of James, I like it.”

“Little long though.”

“People with long names often have a nickname.” She said simply, comfortably, “You could choose one of the other ones, maybe your second favorite?”

He mulled over the choices and shook his head, “Can you read a couple out loud?”

“Like I’m calling you?”

He nodded, once, jerkily.

She stood and walked over to the further corner, raising her voice naturally to call for him, “Jae?”

He frowned and shook his head.

“Jim!”

Not as weird, but still wrong. He shook his head.

“Jaime?”

His head naturally inclined to look at her and the natural reaction was almost warm, “Yeah. that’s it. That’s it!”

He stood and Launched a fist into the air, whooping as his Doctor laughed. He danced around, “ I have a name, I have a _name_!”

“You do! You do!”

“Say it again.” He begged, “Please.”

“Jaime.”

“And the other. Say them both.” He smiled.

“Jaime Jameson.”

“That’s me!” He cheered before dropping back into the chair, “Holy shit, that’s me. I have a name. A Name of my own.”

She walked back over and sat down, “It is. Would you like to talk about your last name?”

He nodded slowly, sobering slightly, “Would it be bad to adopt Barnes’s last name?”

“I think it would be appropriate. Given your circumstances, It’s best to think of him as Family.”

“Jamie Jameson Barnes.” The words felt like honey to his tongue, “What else? I feel… Alive. I’m a person. A Human!”

She seemed delighted, “Of course! Shall we talk about self expression?”

He nodded, on the edge of his seat, arms braced on his knees, hands clasped tightly in front of him, “Please.”

“First thing that people can do has to do with outward appearance. This includes hairstyle, clothing, and things like that.” She said tapping on a file on the tablet. It opened simultaneously on Jaimes tablet, “Mr. Stark has given us an allowance for anything you need while you’re learning.”

“Okay…”

“So, keep in mind that these are just suggestions.” She said, “here we have men’s hairstyles in case you wanted to cut or dye your hair.”

Jaime watched as the styles flew by, he felt tense, he didn’t want it. Too much too fast.

Dr. Milan noticed his attitude and stopped scrolling, “If this is too much, we can stop. We don’t have to talk about this now.”

“No! I just… Too much change.”

“Okay. Should we look for something a little closer to what you have now?”

Jaime nodded, eyes still trained on the tablet, “Please.”

Dr. Milan made a note before narrowing the search fields, “I think I have a good one for you.” She scrolled through and landed, “Here,”

He looked at the photo. The man had his hair pulled up and at the base of his neck, he had very short hair. It was a straight line across the back of his head.

“There’s a couple options, but they’ll get you started.” She flipped through them. The short hair getting further up in each photo until it was around the crown of the man’s head.

“What if I don’t like it?” He asked carefully.

“You can wear the top down.” she said flipping the photo in a different direction. The man in the photo had much longer hair than Jaime did, when he wore it down, it covered all the shaved parts. It was like the man had a secret!

“I like it!” He smiled suddenly, “He’s got secret short hair! I want secret short hair!”

She selected the photo, “And if you change your mind remember, it’s only hair, It will grow back. You can always change it later down the road.”

That sentence became gospel to Jaime. Decisions about himself, his name and appearance could be changed further down the road. 

Together they worked to help Jaime discover himself as a person.


	2. Not Bucky

Tony had kept his word about not letting Steve see Jaime, even when Steve wasn’t patient. 

It was a few weeks after Tony had brought the damaged soldier into the tower when the psychiatrist that he brought in to help finally sat down with them. 

"He's not the same man you went to war with." She tried gently. 

"I know." Steve sighed, "He's been through a lot. Heaven knows I'm not the same man who went into the ice."

"No, i mean…" she took a deep breath, "He's not the same person at all. He's an exact clone from a specific version of who you know as sergeant Barnes. He has no memories prior to being brought into the world out of a large incubator. Beyond that, he has severe PTSD, and a core lack of identity, but he is desperate to be a person."

A quick glance at Steve signaled to Tony that this news was a little more than a Shock for the other man, “so…”

“Jaime wanted me to approach you with this on his behalf since he didn’t want to disappoint you, by not being Bucky,” She said simply, if a little uncomfortable, “However, He will not be apologizing for not being Bucky. He has made a great deal of progress these last couple weeks. We’ve moved from choosing a name, to discussing what he likes and doesn’t like in entertainment. While he has a basic knowledge of the written word, he is not adept at reading. I suggest getting a private tutor for that, Math, History, and other things. Someone that he can be comfortable with.”

Steve was staring at the table now, listening but not really cooperating with the conversation.

“Captain Rogers, I know The Idea of him not being Bucky will possibly disappoint you, but Jaime has potential for a rich and full life. He just needs a little help. He looks up to you because of what you did for him.” She sighed deeply, “And if he’s going to be in as much trouble as you think he is, This will be the safest place for him to embrace the Idea of being a person, or ‘Human’. In my professional opinion, and once both he and your team are feeling ready, you should attempt to incorporate him into your daily life.”

Tony spoke, loudly, filling the silence Steve had made, “Excellent Idea, Doctor just one question, where did Jaime choose his name?”

The Doctor shook her head, “I’m not at liberty to say, but I think that Jaime will be more than happy to tell you.”

***

Jaime had spent two weeks with Friday teaching him to read, and telling him about history and plants. Because of that, he rarely left his room for those two weeks, lying in the comfy bed and lost in the world of amazing things.

He had a small tablet that he carried around. Tony had made it indestructible so even the Hulk could use it, and though Jaime had to use one hand on it, it was a wealth of Knowledge. Friday was installed to directly interface with it, so she could talk to him even if he went on the roof.

“Friday, can you tell me again, about stars?”

“Jaime, I have already told you 12 times about star systems and constellations, is there something I need to break down that you aren’t understanding?”

“No,” He responded without missing a beat, “Just like hearing about it.”

“As much as I would love to go over it again, Dr. Milan Has requested you join her for your session.”

Jaime sat up and checked his phone, “That wasn’t supposed to be today, was it?”

“Dr. Milan was in the Tower for other things, and thought you might enjoy a check in.”

He nodded, casting his eyes around the mostly barren room. There was a bed and a chest of drawers, but nothing else. He let the clothes that Dr. Milan had purchased for him pile in one corner as he wore them. There were a variety of colors and styles, enough for him to play with his presentation, but not too much to be uncomfortable.

He wanted to change his clothes, color wasn’t bad, it just… it made him feel uneasy. He didn’t like it, at least, not against his skin. He deviated a little, but always came back to darker tones of black and gray.

He grabbed a set of Stark Headphones that wirelessly connected to the tablet and slipped them on. Dr. Milan had instructed everyone else in the tower to create playlists of their favorite songs and bands. He was halfway through all of them, playing a list called, “I may be a Beast, But I’m in control.”

Every song seemed to be different. Some loud, some quiet. He could feel the singer’s broken heart through the way they sang.

It made him feel, which he was becoming addicted to. The way sadness pricked his heart, his hands, and sent shivers through his body. The way Anger seemed to Solidify into Courage, made him feel like he could rise up against whatever was plaguing him. The warmth in his chest as he felt static spread over his skin and he couldn’t stop smiling. Every one of these emotions seemed to reward him, with sensations that slid across his skin and left him feeling more alive and more human than ever.

Even when the song made him sad.

Even when he didn’t like the song.

The fact that someone else in the Tower liked it was enough. He stepped into the office that he was used to visiting for his appointments with Dr. Milan.

“Jaime!” She smiled, “I’m glad you could see me!”

“Of course, Doc.” He smiled, sitting in his normal seat, putting his headphones down on the coffee table.

“I actually wanted to get a start on the next step.”

“Okay.”

She made a note and then looked back at him, “But first, how are you feeling so far?”

Jaime thought about it, “It’s… a lot. I’m trying to take it in steps.”

“Tell me about that.”

“I’ve tried on most of the clothes, but…” He plucked a small ball of lint off his shirt, “I like the dark colors.”

“Huh, Interesting.” She didn’t sound disappointed, just curious, “Why do you think that is?”

“ ‘s Comfortable.” His voice was quiet, “Flashy colors are so bright, distracting. I don’t want to stand out.”

She nodded, making a note on her pad, “So darker colors, shall we look at some color swatches?”

He had his Pad ready. She mirrored her screen to his and opened another file. Soon there was a Dark color palette in front of him.

He started picking colors, “Dark red. Like… really dark.”

“Garnet,”

“The Green.”

“The Brunswick or the Castleton?”

Jaime looked at them carefully, “Castleton has more yellow, I like Brunswick.”

“Excellent choice.”

“And…” He pointed, “This one.”

Dr. Milan leaned in to see and smiled, “Russian Violet. And then Black and grey, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll put together a short list of your preferences, and then you’ll have them when you want something new.” There was a pause before she said, “How are you enjoying your homework?”

“It’s nice.” Jaime regained his original screen, and flipped through it, “I’ve gotten better at reading and understanding what books are saying. Started flipping through the History books you gave me.”

She frowned, “I didn’t give you History books, remember.”

“The History Books Steve gave me.” It wasn’t that Jaime disliked Steve, quite the opposite, in fact. Dr. Milan had told him it was Hero Worship, when Steve had given him the chance to fake his own death, he started to idolize the other man. Jaime also knew that Steve knew Bucky, and He wasn’t Bucky. It was a fact that would never go away. It sat there, in the back of his head, taunting him whenever anyone talked about Steve.

Steve wasn’t the only one who had given Dr. Milan things to give to Jaime, but with limited interactions, Jaime had trouble thinking of Steve as someone who was more than just, the Hero and the shield.

The Team was comfortable with Jaime being out around them, but Jaime was having trouble hyping himself up to be among these impressive people, and impressive they were. His brain was filled with their feats and their triumphs, Tony was the only one he spoke with besides Dr. Milan and Friday.

“And the Music is good too. It’s very.. Emotional.” Jaime said, lilting his voice at the end, like he wasn’t sure if it was a question or not.

“Music can be very emotional, is that too much?”

“No! It… It doesn’t Hurt, but it’s just strange. Overwhelming sometimes? It makes me cry, or get angry, but afterwards I feel better.”

“Music can be very emotional, it can mirror what you feel inside and let it out. It can also be very personal. It’s not something you have to share with others. You can, but if you’re very emotional over a song, you don’t have to let anyone into that space you’ve made.”

Jaime looked down at the headphones, “Sounds like a plan, so what’s our next step?”

“Next step Is Integration, I think.” Dr. Milan said carefully, eyes monitoring his reaction, “No less than 45 min every week spending time in the common area, interacting with others.”

Jaime’s throat was suddenly dry, he was scared, “Okay.”

“Jaime. You don’t have to accept everything I say without complaint.”

“I...What if I make a mistake?”

“Mistakes happen.”

“But...If I make a mistake that shows them how unlike people I am, what happens? What if they don’t want me around?”

“Jaime.” Dr. Milan said, “Breathe deep for me?” He complied as she continued, “Mistakes are human. You can worry and What if, but at the end of the day, all it's doing is stopping you from making memories.”

Jaime nodded, breath whooshing in unsteady, measured beats before he said, “What would I even do?”

“Experience new foods, exercise in the gym, watch movies.” Dr. Milan said carefully, “It’s not too much of a stretch to say that you’re sharing bits of what makes you happy with everyone else.”

He looked from her to his hands and back again, “Okay.”

“And If it gets to be too much, you can try again another time. Just go back to your room.”

Jaime felt better about it the more she assured him that it was his pace, “When should I start?”

“You can start today, you can start tomorrow, it’s up to you.” She waved a hand, “I think you’re ready. But the exact day is up to you.”

That made Jaime pause. Another choice.

Dr. Milan was fond of giving him choices.

“Well, I just wanted to check in briefly. I have to get going now, though.” She stood, prompting him to rise as well.

“Of course, thank you for your time.” He said almost out of second nature at this point. It was what Tony said to her whenever she left while he was around. They shook hands.

When she was gone, Jaime found himself filled with a sense of purpose.

_ Tomorrow. Tomorrow for sure. _

***

No one had been warned of his first venture into the common area, so no one met him in the kitchen as the woman in the ceiling instructed him with directions. Waiting for the elevator, he looked in the mirrored walls at his wardrobe choices. The Black t-shirt over a long sleeve grey shirt looked almost casual. No one could guess it took a solid forty minutes of decisions to arrive at the shirt and black cargo pant combo.

He pulled his hair up with shaking hands, letting it collect in a weird messy ball. 

Glancing again, he decided he was satisfied with how much it appeared that he didn’t care about his appearance. But Friday could attest that he most certainly did, and Dr. Milan would call it a coping method.

The doors dinged and Jaime shoved both hands into his pockets, stepping out into the mostly empty floor plan of the common room. The living room to one side had four large couches and a huge TV, opposite the Kitchen, with a breakfast bar. At the far end of the open floor was a dining Table and a bar. There were a few closed off areas, but Jaime assumed those were bathrooms or storage. Jaime also noticed that none of the Vents were screwed to the vents, which was strange enough, but the two industrial fridges in the kitchen took up his entire focus once he saw them.

Both fridges were filled to the brim. And instantly, a tremor entered Jaime’s hands.

He had dabbled a little in food. But having so many choices in front of him, he felt overwhelmed.

“Not know where to begin?” He spun to look at the man who seemed to appear out of nowhere. It took Jaime a split second before he glanced up at the swinging grate. The man followed his gaze before jumping, hitting the vent and causing it to slam shut. As Jaime stumbled back into the fridge, the man held out a hand, “I’m Clint, and you must be Jaime.”

Jaime cautiously took the hand and shook it, “I’m sorry, I’m in your way.”

“Nah, I’m here for this.” He motioned to the coffee maker beside him on the counter, “I just thought you looked a lil’ flustered, need some help?”

Jaime’s voice was little more than a whisper, “Yes please.”

“What kind of food were you looking for?”

“Somethin’ solid?” Jaime said, making Clint laugh unintentionally.

“Okay, lots of options then.” Clint crouched beside the open fridge and surveyed the options like a tactician, “New plan. I’m going to hand you things, you put them on the counter.”

Jaime nodded enthusiastically, “Okay.”

They worked like an automated system, throwing everything onto the counter. Jaime carefully set some of the more flimsy objects by themselves. Piling fruits and vegetables in the sink before organizing the leftovers. 

Clint stood in front of Jaime, hands braced on his own hips looking satisfied with the pile of food they’d created.

Then a Redhead dropped into the kitchen in front of them.

“What the hell do you think you're doing touching my food!?” The redhead was loud enough that Jaime involuntarily jerked back against the Industrial Fridge and brought both hands up like he was ready to fight. But He wasn’t. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, or get hurt anymore.

The woman opened her mouth to have another word when she noticed Jaime, who had backed himself into the corner of the kitchen, eyes wide and glazed with fear.

She froze, and at her sudden stillness, Clint turned to him. Then Jaime started listening, and heard his own voice, a steady stream of words whispering out,  _ “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I had no Idea, I’m sorry, It won’t happen again, I’ll….” _

He may have been speaking Russian, but both of them understood. He tried to stop his mouth, when he couldn’t, he clasped a hand over his mouth. Both hands. Closed his eyes.

_ Deep Breath, Jaime. _

He counted, In for 5, hold for 7, out for 10. Focused only on the breathing as he heard voices,, soft Russian.

“ _ No need to apologize, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s okay. No one blames you.”  _ The same Russian phrases over and over as two sets of hands ran over his shoulders and back. Soothing, warm, safe.

He released his hold over his mouth and took a shaky breath.

The Redhead looked at him, “Are you better?”

He nodded once, “Sorry.”

“My fault, not yours.” She smiled kindly, “I’m Natasha,”

“Jaime.” He said, and let himself be pulled back to his feet, “Are you sure it’s not my fault? You seemed pretty angry…”

“ Nah,” Clint said easily, “Natasha was yelling at me, not you. Natasha Ain’t angry at you at all, okay?”

Natasha shot him a look before turning back to Jaime, “I’m so sorry, Jaime. I had no Idea you were here, that was unfair.”

Jaime tilted his head slightly downwards, looking slightly like a hurt puppy, “You aren’t mad?”

“Not at you, don’t worry.” Natasha said with a smile before turning on Clint and spearing him with a look and a point, “I have told you time and time again. Everyone can eat whatever they want  **except my sweets** . They are off limits. I have put my name on them every single time. And I know it’s you who keeps stealing them.”

“But Nat! They taste so good!”

“That’s why they’re mine!”

“You…” Jamie said quietly, “You don’t hate each other?”

“Only some times.” Natasha said slowly, “but we have a strong bond, stronger than any anger and irritation can break.”

“Awe, you love me.” Clint smirked.

“I know. But that won’t stop me from beating you to within an inch of your life if you steal my sweets.”

Jaime took a moment to pull out the small notebook and scribble down on a fresh page.

**Do not steal Natasha’s sweets.**

Satisfied with himself, he pocketed the book again and rejoined the banter in the kitchen

“Besides,” Natasha motioned, “What are you doing?”

“We’re gonna sample everything in the house since Jaime is new to solid food.”

Natasha looked at him in almost grief and he felt deeply uncomfortable for a brief moment before she spoke again, “You’ve never had Samosas?”

Jaime didn’t recognize the word, “I don’t think so.”

Nat Gasped, “You poor thing!”

Clint smiled, “So I figured, let’s cook everything in the house. See what he likes and doesn’t like. Tony won’t mind.”

“Cap might if you steal his Mac and Cheese.”

“Psssh. He’s nowhere near as scary as you are.” Clint grabbed a plastic container and popped it in the microwave, “Have a seat, my good man, and I will serve you all the food you could possibly want.”

Natasha sat at the breakfast bar and Jaime slid into the seat beside her, smiling slightly.

“So what did you eat?”

“Protein shakes, water, vitamin supplements.” Jaime responded carefully, “I once ate a hot dog on a mission.”

Natasha leaned in, “Really?” her curiosity should have made him uncomfortable but instead he felt...comfortable? That was weird….

“One had a Handler keep me in the kill room for a week without sleep. Used a shocking thingy on me.” He mimed the jabbing motion, seemed so long ago now, “Had two prongs, crackled, long handle.”   
“Cattle prod.” Clint supplied, shuddering, “Horrifying,”

Nat nodded, “Especially useful if the torturer wants to leave little to no wounds.”

Jaime shook his head, hands clenching slowly and then releasing, “I can’t…”

Nat pulled back, “I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me. Clint, first Menu Item!”

The other man obeyed, pulling the Tupperware out of the microwave to change the subject. With a little too much flourish, he laid the fork down beside the open tupperware and smiled, “Bon appetit.”

The moment that Jaime took a bite, it was like coming home. It was perfect, filled him with heat and joy, and his mouth craved it instantly. He had shoved two more forkfulls into his mouth before even swallowing.

“Damn…” Clint whistled.

“What’s going on in here?” a voice called, but Jaime couldn’t turn as he shoveled more of the mac and cheese into his mouth.

“Hey Cap, Jaime is just crying over your mac and cheese.”

Jaime looked up, eyes still burning with joy, “ ‘hm-mm.” he shook his head vigorously.

“You are too!”

The Blonde rounded the counter to stand beside Clint looking at him like he was an injured animal, “It can’t possibly be that good.”

Jaime swallowed thickly, twice, diverting his attention, “It’s everything I wished it would be.”

Natasha spoke then, “It fills your stomach with warmth?”

“Yes.”

“And your heart with Joy?”

“Yes.”

“That is the definition of soul food.” Natasha said carefully.

Steve cleared his throat, eyes slightly red before motioning, “What are we doing here?”

“Eating Tony out of House and Home. Think Thor is around?” Clint smiled brightly. 

Steve pinned the other man with a look, "you are such a child. Thor was off world again, last I checked."

"I might be able to pry Bruce from his lab if need be."

"What about the kid?" Clint spayed cap a glance, putting the next dish in front of Jaime before he'd finished the first. 

"Try this, Jaime." Natasha gently swapped the Tupperware with the next bowl of leftovers. 

He tried Pasta, Lasagna, rice, chicken, potatoes, and so many others that he completely lost it while people came in around him. Jaime lost track of the conversation, the people, everything. Every bite was heaven, He’d had never felt emotion so intense before. 

It was strange. Human food was so diverse. He tried everything, foods that were sweet, foods tasty were sour, foods that lit flawless fires in his mouth. He tasted milk for the first time, crisp and cool and creamy, tasted fruits from all over. 

The whole group was passing around the leftovers, soft buzz of voices as Jaime ate through every food group. 

And there was still so much to go. He was overwhelmed. Too much. 

Then there was Tony.

“Hello, what's going on in here?" Tony entered the kitchen, "eating me out of house and home again?

"Yes."Clint smiled evilly.

“You’re out of Yogurt again, by the way.” Nat teased.

Tony laughed in good Humor, standing at Jaime’s Left, "Hey there, Jaime, you look right at home. You having fun?"

Jaime couldn't speak, opened his mouth but no words came out. Tony's gaze focused in on his face.

"Is it too much? Are you overwhelmed?" His voice was quiet. 

Jaime nodded. His eyes closed and Tony ran a hand over his head, "its okay, you don't have to keep going."

Jaime looked up at Tony, "are you sure? I don't want to disappoint anyone…"

"No one's disappointed Jaime."

Jaime looked back at the other people at the table, Natasha and Clint were in heavy debate, providing most of the noise in the room, and then the woman and red and another strange being, murmuring to each other quietly. Bruce watched both groups with quiet amusement occasionally sparing a look for Steve who was watching the interaction between Tony and Jaime carefully. 

Jaime felt those eyes, that grief, that sadness, pity. It cut through him, made him feel small, trying to squeeze into a place he didn’t fit. 

“I think I need to go to my room now…” He whispered.

“Okay, let’s go.” Tony smiled, motioning for him to follow, “Hey, Gang, I’ll be right back.” He called as they headed for the elevator.

The doors closed.

Everything was fire, everything was ice, everything was dark, and everything was too bright.

His first breath ripped through his lungs, making him shudder. Second attack in one day, he hated it, hated it, hated it,  _ hated it. _

“Jaime…” Tony’s voice was quiet, “Is it okay if I touch your back?”

Jaime breathed heavily nodding as he sagged against the wall, curling over slightly to bury his face into shaking hands.

“Okay, Friday, Penthouse, please.”

The Elevator rose, and rose and rose. Then the doors opened and Jaime looked up at the unfamiliar apartment, “Come with me, just inside the door, I promise everything will be okay.”

Jaime believed him. He promised. Jaime didn’t stand, didn’t trust himself to, instead he crawled out of the Elevator and flopped onto his side on the floor. Tony vanished for a moment, leaving Jaime slightly disoriented but it was only a heartbeat before he returned with a pillow and a water bottle.

“Sip slowly, hug tightly.” He Obeyed, sitting up slightly to hug the pillow better. It was soft, his chest eased the knot it had created, the water helped his breathing, and washed away the foul taste in his mouth.

“Should I go?”

Jaime shook his head, he slid a little further down the wall until he was on the floor, “too much.”

Tony nodded, “Sensory overload, too many new things all at once. We’ll try a little less next time.”

“I’m sorry…” Jaime tried,  _ Sorry I didn’t eat more, sorry I ran out, sorry I’m not who you want me to be, sorry I ruined everything. _

Tony put both hands over his single hand clutching the water bottle, speaking in that same calm voice, over the chorus of sorry’s pouring from Jaime’s mouth, “No need to be sorry, Jaime. No need to apologize. We don’t judge you.”

Jaime drank again and felt his breath even out. The words didn’t feel like that was the truth. It must have shown on his face because Tony chuckled slightly.

“Let me tell you what someone once told me when I didn’t know who I was,” Tony cleared his throat, “ ‘It’ll take time to find your footing. But when you do--’ ” The Man didn’t look him in the eye, his voice sounded thick with emotion that Jaime couldn’t place, “ ‘When you do, the choices you make will be your own. And that is what makes you a person.’”

Jaime stared at him for a minute before he broke down in tears.

“Are these good tears or bad tears?” Tony’s voice was panicked, “Friday, I think I broke him!”

Jaime shook his head, “No, no….”

“No?”

“Good. I needed to hear it.”

Jaime slowly pushed himself up to standing, “I think, I need to go to my room.”

“Okay. Did you want to keep the pillow for now?”

Jaime tightened his arms, “Can I?”

“Yeah, sure. Anything you need, sweetheart.”

He buried his face into the pillow and walked back into the elevator, Tony close behind. Once he was back in his room, he finally relaxed, calm and safe. He clutched the pillow to his chest still, partially afraid of another wave of breathlessness.

It was easier to be alone than it was to be with others right now. He wasn’t ready for that much all at once. 

Then his brain stopped working as a thought hit his head, Would he ever be?

*** 

Tony watched Jaime retreat to his room before the elevator doors closed again and he headed back down to the common area. Everyone was still loudly talking and chatting, but once he stepped out into the room, Steve caught him and pulled him to the side.

“Is everything okay?”

Tony shrugged, “as good as can be expected. Went about as well as I imagined.”

“The panic attack or the first day out with the animals?” Steve asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Both actually. I didn’t expect Jaime to run into Clint alone though.” Tony matched the Captain’s stance, “That really stressed him out.”

“Really?”

“Given that much freedom without any direction? Yeah, I’ll say so.”

Steve motioned, “Can we… talk about Jaime?”

“Of course.” Tony headed into the only conference room on this level. Normally it was reserved for team shouting matches but whenever Tony and Steve had a disagreement lately, Nat would insist they fight “in the get-along room” which is what it came to be known as.

Steve shut the door as Tony sat on the table, one foot still touching the ground, “Did I make it too awkward?”

“With Jaime?”

“Yeah. I catch myself thinking of him as Bucky. He looks like Bucky, speaks in Bucky’s voice, and I know it’s not his fault, but I…”

“No.”

“What?”

Tony folded his hands, “No you didn’t make things awkward. You definitely make him feel strange, but you’re mourning over the second loss of your life long best friend you just convinced yourself was alive again. But why would that make things awkward? It’s not as if you’re both in constant unimaginable pain and trying to hide it from each other or anything.” sarcasm dripped through his words.

Steve frowned,”Look here…”

“Cap, I’m not fighting. I’m just saying. We can tell you’re grieving. You don’t need to try and Hide it.” Tony’s voice dropped, “And anyway, Jaime is going to need the ‘one who saved him from Hydra’ to be his friend, not holding him at arms length in nostalgia.”

Steve just glared at him, “Your one to talk, Stark.”

“Exactly. Learn my lessons so you don’t have to struggle through my mistakes, kid.” Tony stood up, burying his hands in his pockets, “We done? I’d like to get some coffee so I can go be antisocial in my lab and get upgrades done for the team, that cool?" He didn't wait for an answer before heading for the door. 

Steve grabbed his arm a little harder than intended, "you can ask for help too you know. No one is hoping to judge you."

Tony didn't answer. He grabbed his coffee and retreated to the lab and tried not to think about it. 

They were a mess. All of them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And That's It! Might explore more Identity stuff in the next Part of the Series

**Author's Note:**

> "Secret Short Hair" Refers to an Undercut. I couldn't figure out a way to work it organically into the story.


End file.
